


stop crying to the ocean

by orphan_account



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Femslash February, Haircuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1187433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Change isn't always a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stop crying to the ocean

Haruka is frowning at her. Sure, Haruka spends most of her time with a borderline scowl on her face, but that’s just the way her muscles settle. This time she’s actually frowning: eyebrows slightly furrowed, bottom lip jutting out. It’s unsettling at the very least.

“Is something wrong?” Makoto asks, throwing a shirt on over her damp swimsuit. It clings uncomfortably to her stomach.

Being who she is, Haruka starts pulling off her own swimsuit, no regard for her surroundings. Makoto squeaks and averts her eyes, which she then realizes might have been the intention. “No,” is all Haruka says as a response, and when Makoto tentatively turns around, her expression is back to normal.

The others already left: Rei to go study, Nagisa for a secret date, and Kou for suspicious reasons that may involve being the other party in that date. Makoto takes Haruka’s hand and drags her out of the locker room before she can make a run for one last lap in the pool.

Their hands feel sticky together, both pruny and still rather damp. They barely make it outside by the time Haruka digs her heels into the pavement.

“What is it, Haru?” Makoto urges. She tugs, but Haruka won’t budge.

The frown is back, even more pronounced than it had been before. It stays that way for a while, a few twitches every now and then, until her mouth opens completely. “I want to get a haircut.”

Makoto blinks. She’s always the one who takes Haruka to get haircuts; she’s too fond of feeling her long hair billow in the water, with the introduction of a swim cap causing what’s still a sense of contention to her. “Okay, we can go whenever you want,” Makoto says.

Haruka’s avoiding her glance, which is unnerving and vaguely worrying. “I want you to do it,” she admits.

A part of Makoto’s brain crashes and burns. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Chop it all off. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

Another part of her brain, particularly the part in charge of basic language comprehension, fizzles out. “Chop it off?”

Chopping off is something Makoto associates with horror movies and other disasters, not Haruka’s beautiful, dark black, insanely long hair. Looking almost impatient, Haruka pulls it back as though it were in a ponytail.

“Just cut it off like this. I’ll donate the extra, or something,” she rationalizes.

Finally, Makoto’s head starts to catch up with her. “I’ve never given a haircut before, so I might mess it up completely. And are you sure you want to impulsively make such a drastic change?”

“There’s nothing impulsive about it. I’ve been thinking about this,” Haruka admits. “And I don’t care. You can’t screw up too badly, it’s just cutting.”

As tempted as Makoto is to fight back, she knows that winning against Haruka is nothing she could ever do—especially when her friend has her heart set on something, which she obviously does. Makoto sighs. “And you want to do it right now?”

“Just come over. I’ll make you dinner,” Haruka compromises.

“As long as it isn’t fish again,” Makoto says, forcing a steel conviction behind her words that ends up more like a plastic suggestion.

She expects an eye roll at least. Instead, Haruka releases one of her rare I’m-genuinely-happy-you’re-my-best-friend smiles, just barely noticeable to anyone who isn’t the best friend in question. Makoto’s heart pauses and restarts on overtime.

The walk home is quieter than normal, because normal usually consists of Makoto rambling and Haruka listening, but now Makoto isn’t so sure. Of course, she’s known that her particular feelings for Haruka go beyond the typical “best friend” butterflies for a year or so by now, but she convinced herself that if she ignored them long enough they would disintegrate completely. Clearly, judging by the sudden heat of the blood running through her body, that’s not the case.

“Everything fine?” Haruka asks when they get to her house.

“Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” Makoto insists.

Haruka sends her an unconvinced look but lets it go. She knows that if Makoto wants to talk about it, she will. Makoto follows her inside and stands awkwardly in the doorway, feeling as though what is essentially her second home has become something foreign.

“Go sit in the living room. I’ll grab the scissors,” Haruka says.

Makoto breaks from her daze. “Ah, also get a towel to put around your shoulders. And a hair tie, if you really do want to donate the hair you cut off.”

There’s no sound of acknowledgement, but Makoto knows Haruka heard her. She walks into the living room and clears a spot for them, which isn’t difficult considering how neat Haruka keeps her house. Makoto thinks the easiest way to do this would be for her to sit on the couch and Haruka on the floor, between her legs; she immediately counts to ten and forces her brain to stick to strict and platonic thoughts.

A minute later Haruka comes in, carrying the materials she mentioned. Makoto grabs everything from her, and for a moment, she hovers awkwardly.

“Oh, just sit down on the floor. It would be easier for me to be elevated,” Makoto explains. Haruka does as she says.

Her hair is almost to the ground, and Makoto feels her pulse speed up. She gathers the hair in her hands and puts it in a high, loose ponytail, allowing her fingers to run through the strands. It feels heavier than Makoto’s own hair.

“Lift up your head,” she murmurs as she takes the towel. Haruka hums and raises her chin, allowing Makoto to wrap the towel around her shoulders. Makoto’s fingers hesitate around the scissors. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

There's no reluctance. “Yes.” Her voice has the steel behind it that Makoto so envies. Haruka tilts her head back slightly, just enough to make eye contact. “Mako, I want you to do this,” she says bluntly.

Makoto feels a smile spread across her face, one that she doesn’t even try to hide in fear that her feelings would shine through. She takes the scissors to the end of the elastic and she cuts.

The ponytail falls limp in her hands, and she lets out a small shriek. “It isn’t going to hurt you,” Haruka scolds, with a hint of teasing in her voice. Makoto feels euphoric.

She finishes the cut, evening everything out, making bangs when Haruka expresses an interest in them. It looks messy but almost intentionally so, and she knows Haruka won’t care either way.

“I’ll grab you a mirror,” Makoto says.

“I don’t own any handheld mirrors. I’ll get up with you,” Haruka suggests. Makoto stands and reaches down a hand to pull her up, just like she does every morning and every practice and every other time of day. They walk into the bathroom together.

Haruka runs her other hand through her hair, watching how it reacts in the mirror. Her lips part in apparent excitement. The sides are a little shorter than Makoto intended, and the back looks choppy when focused on for too long, but it looks good. She looks good. She looks happy, in the way she usually saves for extended practice time and fried mackerel. The reflections of their eyes meet.

“Thank you,” she says, and she leans back against Makoto, tightening her grip on her hand. Makoto almost jumps, but Haruka’s grasp keeps her down.

“You’re welcome.”

It’s probably getting late, and Makoto probably should feel bad that she forgot to tell her parents that she was going to Haruka’s right after practice, but she knows they probably assumed anyway.

“I left the ponytail on the towel in the living room. We can send it in tomorrow,” Makoto mumbles. Haruka nods against her chest and turns her body so their stomachs are pressed together, Haruka’s back to the mirror. She finally lets go of Makoto’s hand and brings both of her own hands to Makoto’s hair, knotting her fingers through the strands, and Makoto thinks that maybe she doesn’t have to hide her smiles after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Due to my very evident Sailor Moon problem, every once in a while I found myself typing "Michiru" instead of "Makoto" or asking myself why the hell I'm writing Sailor Uranus/Sailor Jupiter fanfiction. Then I remembered.
> 
> Title from "The Ocean" by Tegan and Sara because they are another obvious problem of mine and I couldn't think of a title for the life of me. I don't really care that much about Free! anymore, but I do have a great need to write genderbent Rin/Rei one day so maybe that will happen.
> 
> You can find me over at ymirkrista.tumblr.com in case you ever want to talk about how amazing Haruka Tenoh is, because I would be so up for it.


End file.
